


Soft Touch / Raw Nerve

by flowersforgraves



Series: BTHB [29]
Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Canon, Serious Injuries, Space Battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19059094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: A battle goes poorly for Khiruev's bannermoth.





	Soft Touch / Raw Nerve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).



> Prompt from venndaai: dying in their arms with Khiruev
> 
> Card: [here on Imgur](https://imgur.com/VtOGzNh) // List of claimed prompts: [here on Tumblr](https://flowersforgraves.tumblr.com/post/184817489731/)
> 
> Prompt me via Dreamwidth or Tumblr!

General Khiruev looks like she’s laughing. Her head is thrown back, chest heaving. Under other circumstances, Brezan would be pleased to see his general lose her stoic mask.

Under other circumstances, Khiruev wouldn’t be semiconscious and gasping for breath while crushed ribs slowly suffocate her.

Brezan spits blood from a bitten lip before staggering over to his general’s side. “Sir,” he says, and has to spit again. He drops to his knees, gently moving Khiruev to rest her head in the crook of his arm. “Can you hear me, General?”

Khiruev drags her eyes open. She’s visibly struggling, and Brezan hates it. He’s not quite sure whether he hates seeing her in pain, hates feeling helpless, hates that anyone is seeing her vulnerable at all. But she’s conscious, and that’s enough for Brezan to hope. 

“Status isn’t good, General,” Brezan tells her. “Significant damage to not only the mothdrives but also to our guidance system and weaponry. You might have to transfer command units to a different moth if we’re going to keep the schedule.” He’s babbling, and he knows it, but Major General Kel Khiruev is slowly choking to death in his arms and he _wasn’t trained for this_ at all. He doesn’t even know if she can hear him, let alone understand what he’s saying. “I’m going to try to take you to medical, sir,” he says.

As soon as he goes to pick her up, she starts coughing, choking on nothing, and Brezan immediately stops moving. “I’m sorry, General,” he says, and he is, he really is sorry, “but I have to try to move you.”

She glares at him. At least, he’d like to think it was a glare, and not just pain, but the odds of that are lessening as the seconds tick past. Khiruev’s glares are generally intimidating as fuck, and this really, really isn’t one of those. Her eyes slide closed again, and Brezan decides to move as fast as he can while she’s not looking at him. 

He stands up. There’s a horrifyingly sustained moment where he thinks he’s going to fall over himself and maybe pass out, but he doesn’t. Brezan almost reaches out to clutch at a console to steady himself, but his fingers are curled into Khiruev’s uniform and he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. 

Khiruev is shaking violently, coughing and gasping for breath. He wants to say something to her, some useless words of reassurance or a promise to complete the mission or anything. But he’s dizzy with adrenalin and blood loss and smoke inhalation and he’s not sure he can make it down to medical without help, let alone if he tries to expend energy talking.

So Brezan sets his jaw and takes a slow, unstable step toward the door. And then another, and another, and another, and he’s _proud_ , somehow, of the pitiful accomplishment of making it out the door before he staggers against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He can no longer distinguish between his rasping breath and Khiruev’s, between the stickiness of blood and sweat. 

Kel Brezan forces himself back to his feet and starts again.


End file.
